I'm Sorry I Can't Be Perfect
by lp070
Summary: *Spoilers for Season 3* Set two years after Neal and Mozzie run with the art.  Neal shows up on the Burke's doorstep asking for help, but Peter isn't entirely willing to listen.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary: *Spoilers for Season 3* Set two years after Neal and Mozzie run with the art. Neal shows up on the Burke's doorstep asking for help, but Peter isn't entirely willing to listen. **_

_** Hi everyone! Thanks for showing some kind of interest in this. For anyone reading my other story, I promise I'm still working on it! This was just one of those things that I needed to get down. I don't expect it to be very long. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! **_

It was nearly twelve o'clock on a Wednesday night, and, to their surprise, Peter and Elizabeth Burke were being pulled awake by the sound of a loud banging on their front door. The two immediately exchanged worried glances. They flicked on the lights beside them and sat up. By the time they were fully awake and out of bed in a dazed confusion, their large yellow lab was already at the bedroom door, barking anxiously to investigate. Peter rubbed his tired face with his hand and crossed the room. He turned to his wife and waved a hand at her.

"Stay here," he yawned. "I'll go check it out." Elizabeth seemed more than happy to comply. She nodded and sat back down on their bed. She watched as her husband grabbed his gun from their dresser and followed the restless dog out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Peter wasn't sure if he should be angry or frightened. No sane person could possibly be knocking at his door this late on a week night. He held his gun tighter in his hand and took another stepped towards the door. The knocking continued. It wasn't just a friendly tap, a polite request for entry into the house. This was desperate, maybe even threatening. The hammering refused to cease until, finally, Peter and the dog reached the front door, and the man swung it open.

It was raining, making it too dark to make out anything more than a silhouette standing on the front porch. The whole house was still dark as well. Peter was of course regretting his decision not to turn the lights on because now he was left standing in his doorway, blinking in vain at the dark figure on his front step.

Satchmo didn't seem the least bit uneasy about the situation, which struck Peter at once. The dog was just about the sweetest, best trained, and most protective animal he had ever met, but, when it came down to it, he was a complete coward. Not at the moment, however. He had rushed forward the moment the door swung open, hurrying to meet the figure. His eyes may have been affected by the darkness, but his nose was telling him that this was no stranger. Peter relaxed slightly.

It was several moments before anything happened. The dog was circling the figure with a wagging tail, but neither the stranger nor Peter made any motion towards the other. Peter wasn't sure if this was some sort of joke or threat or just a friendly neighborhood visit. He was definitely hoping for the latter but each second that went by made it more obvious that that wasn't case. Cautiously, he took a step forward, readying his gun. It made a distinct click as he cocked it. At that, a familiar voice rang out from the dark step.

"Jesus, Peter! Are you trying to kill me?" the voice asked in a surprised but playful tone. Peter was so incredibly shocked that he nearly fell over at the mere sound of the man's voice. He was sure he let out an audible gasp before reaching his arm over to the light switched. It was only a second before the hall and porch light flickered on, revealing both men to the other.

"What are you doing here?" Peter asked, after several minutes of awestruck silence. This wasn't possible. This man could not possibly be standing before him, drenched in the continuous downpour.

"I…" the man began. An innocent smile flashed across his face. "I need your help."

Peter didn't say anything. He allowed the feelings of anger and betrayal to overcome him and simply stood, fuming, in his front hallway, not offering entry to the other man.

"Peter, please," he continued, trying his best to ignore Peter's cold glare. "I know I'm the last person you want to see right now, and you're probably just going to throw me back into prison, but I really just need to talk to you." He lowered his hand to pat the excited dog on the head and reinforced his impeccable smile, trying not to show his trembling in the cold rain.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cuff you and put you away for good this very second," Peter finally said. His voice was dripping with hostility. There was no level of relief or excitement to see the man who had disappeared without a trace nearly two years earlier suddenly standing at his front door.

"Because after everything that I've done, to you, to Elizabeth, to June, to the bureau, I'm standing here asking for your help, knowing very well what you could do to me," the man's voice remained calm, sharply in contrast to Peter's.

"What I _will _do to you," Peter corrected, and he suddenly wished he had grabbed his handcuffs from the dresser as well.

"Look, you can do whatever you want to me, but right now, I really just need you to listen," he was pleading now. Peter couldn't help but feel a little guilty. In all his year of knowing him, he had never heard the man beg before.

"Fine," he agreed with a sharp nod, and, finally, he stepped aside to let the man enter the house. Relief watched over the man's face as he escaped from the rain into the safety of the house. Satchmo followed quickly behind, his tail still wagging. "But I'm bringing you in first thing in the morning. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," the man nodded sharply. He stood in the bright light of the front hallway, finally letting Peter get a good look at him. This wasn't the same man who had slipped away from him two years ago. His hair was much longer and drenched from the rain. Water seemed to be coming off of his shaking body by the gallon. His usual suit and tie attire had been replaced with an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Scars, bruises, and cuts covered his body. There was a fresh looking gash across his left cheek. Peter would have taken pity on him under different circumstances.

"You look like hell," he pointed out, maybe sounding a little too amused.

"I've been through hell," the man stated with a tired groan. His eyes fell longingly on the couch just several feet away from them. He wanted nothing more than to go to it, collapse in exhaustion, and slip into complete oblivion. There was more silence. Both had so much to say, but neither knew exactly where to start.

"Peter," the man said at last. He knew this wasn't going to be enough, but it was definitely a start. "I'm sorry."

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He shook his head in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" his voice was desperate as he repeated the question. This man was just about the last person he wanted to see standing in his living room in the middle of the night. "You know there's nothing I can do. I have to bring you in."

"I know," the man nodded and smiled, as if this was the best news he could possibly hear. There were a few more moments of complete silence where the man simply stood there, hugging his arms around himself in an attempt to cease his shivering.

"Come on," Peter said with a defeated sigh. "I'll throw a pot of coffee on."

The man grinned and followed Peter into the kitchen. They let silence fill the room as Peter busied himself with the coffee, and the man sat patiently at the kitchen table, a beach towel wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It was always difficult to find somewhere to start when so much time had passed between two people. It was a few minutes before Peter finally joined the man at the kitchen table with two mugs in hand. He nudged one over to his guest and looked at him expectantly.

"You wanted to talk," he reminded him, when all he got was a silent stare from his visitor.

"I know," the man buried his face in his hands in complete exhaustion. "It's just easier said than done."

"Neal…"

_**Any kind of feedback is always appreciated. Of course, let me know if you'd like to see more of this. **_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you all so much for the brilliantly awesome reviews. I hope this chapter fits your expectations! Hopefully, more to come tomorrow…if I ever get around to writing the next chapter…Enjoy!**_

"You lied to me," were the first words that Peter was able to say. Neal's face immediately twisted into a hurt, innocent expression. He had hoped that after so much time had passed, Peter would at least be a little happy to see him. It was clear now that he would have no such luck.

"Technically I didn't lie…" Neal began, but the look on Peter's face immediately shut him up. "Okay. I lied."

"You stole the art?"

"Mozzie did," Neal corrected, hoping that would get him some kind of redemption. Peter just shook his head in disappointment.

"And then you saw an opportunity to run, and you took it," Peter continued. That part was true, of course. It had just been an average case. Neal had gone undercover, and his anklet had been removed. Before anyone could even realize he was gone, he had slipped away unnoticed.

"Yeah," Neal said guiltily.

"Did you even think, for the tiniest second, about what you were doing?" Peter's voice was rising quickly. Neal shrank back. "Or what would happen to me after you ran? What would happen to _you_ if you got caught?"

"Not really," Neal answered quietly. "More than a billion dollars worth of treasure was dropped into my lap, and I had the perfect escape plan already lined up for me. What would you expect?"

Peter's eyes met Neal's sharply. "I would expect you to stay," he said coldly. "I gave you a shot at a better life, and this is how you repaid me. You threw everything away," he fell silent for a moment, realizing that this wasn't where the anger was truly coming from. He knew exactly who Neal Caffrey was when they had become partners. He always knew he had that self destructive instinct in him. How could he have expected him to change? That wasn't what was bothering him. "I trusted you," he said, finally getting to the true matter at hand. Neal frowned. "I was dumb enough to trust you, and you left without thinking twice about it."

"You're right. I didn't," Neal interrupted before the lecture could go on any further. "I didn't think twice about it because I knew that if I did, I wouldn't be able to go through with it," he lowered his voice and met Peter's eyes. "Peter, I swear, I regretted it the second I left. I don't want to do this anymore. I mean that this time."

"Is that why you're here?" Peter asked in surprise. "To turn yourself in?" Another guilty expression crept onto Neal's face.

"Not exactly," he winced, realizing that now he would have to explain everything that had happened in the past two years.

"What did you do?" Peter sighed knowingly. Leave it to Neal to get into trouble wherever he went.

"I didn't do anything," Neal answered in an offended tone. "Peter, I swear, besides stealing the art and running away, I did nothing illegal."

"Yeah. Besides that," Peter groaned. He shook his head in annoyance, but Neal was sure he caught a hint of amusement on the other man's face.

"Well, we may have been a bit cocky when we first got to San Francisco…"

"You were in San Francisco?" Peter interrupted. "I had agents all over the world, and you were in San Francisco?"

Neal allowed himself to smile. "Yeah," he confirmed. "We were looking for buyers, and we may have been a little too vocal about exactly what we had."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Neal ignored him. "A few men who claimed to be potential buyers offered to meet us for a small showing," his face was serious now. "It's not like we just posted an ad on craigslist and hoped for the best. These guys were supposed to be legit."

"I'm assuming they weren't," Peter said expectantly.

"They had guns," Neal said, putting it simply enough. Peter shook his head. How was it possible that Neal Caffrey, world class criminal, was completely useless the instant a gun reared its head?

"They took it?"

Neal nodded. "You wouldn't think billions of dollars worth of art would be so easy to steal, but I'd say they cleaned us out in under an hour," the disappointment was still evident on his face. "We chased them for almost a year. It's not easy to travel with a truckload of stolen artifacts, but they seemed to manage."

Suddenly, Neal fell silent, as if he didn't want to continue his story. Peter looked at him questioningly.

"So you chased them for a year, and…" he nudged the other man along.

Neal's eyes fell on his coffee. He clutched the mug tightly in his hands and swirled the contents nervously. "And then we caught up to them."

"So you got it all back?" Peter pushed. Neal was becoming uncharacteristically anxious. He looked around the room wildly, hoping for some sort of distraction, but there was still a whole year missing from this story, and Peter was determined to find out what had happened.

"Yeah," he said quietly, barely above a whisper. "But there were…" he struggled for the word, "complications."

Finally, Peter understood. Only, he wished he didn't. He hoped, above everything, that he was wrong. "They weren't too happy about that, were they?" he asked cautiously. Neal flinched. His head was bowed so low that his long hair was completely shielding his eyes from Peter's sight. "Neal," Peter said, and, for the first time all night, his voice wasn't full of anger and sarcasm. Neal's eyes shot up at once. "Where's Mozzie?" Peter questioned, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer to that already.

Neal broke at the words. His mouth twisted as he bit down hard on his lip. His hands immediately shot up to his forehead, as he buried his face in his balled up fists. Peter watched in desperate fear. His anger and hostility was washing away, quickly being replaced with a much more urgent feeling of concern. "He's dead," Neal answered, but his words were muffled, and his voice cracked slightly.

To say that Peter's heart sank would have been an understatement. It _plummeted_ at Neal's confirmation. His stomach twisted into a nauseating knot.

"Neal," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Neal shot back at once. "I'm the one who should be sorry. It was my fault." His eyes were raised again. They bore into Peter, filled with fear and regret. Peter frowned.

"I'm sure that's not true…" Peter started, but Neal cut him off immediately.

"I hid it," he said bitterly. "After we got it back, I hid it. Mozzie didn't even know where it was, but I promised him it was safe, so he trusted me. They found us after a couple months. I thought they had given up, but they must have been tracking us the whole time. I thought we had been covering our tracks well enough. Apparently, I was wrong…One of them came after us," he ran his hand threw his hair. "Moz told me about a dozen times that I should start carrying. We didn't know who would be after us. But, like an idiot, I refused…" he cringed at his, now glaring, mistake. "I would have had a perfect shot of the guy, but I was completely unarmed. He took down Mozzie and came after me."

Peter was alarmed now. He looked around the kitchen, half expecting Mozzie's shooter to burst in at any second. The room remained still, though, and Neal continued.

"He must have known that I had all the information because he didn't make any move to kill me. He grabbed me and met up with the rest of them…"

"They did that?" Peter asked, gesturing to Neal's numerous wounds. Slowly, the younger man nodded.

"I wouldn't tell them where it was," he said quietly. "And they couldn't kill me because, trust me Peter, when I hide something, it disappears."

"I believe you," Peter said blankly.

"I must have been with them for months," Neal continued. The exhaustion on his face seemed to multiply at his words. "I mean, they tried just about everything to get me to talk…" he cringed. As did Peter because he knew what that meant. Neal hadn't spent the past two years lying on some beach sipping Pina Coladas. He had meant it when he said he had been through hell.

"So they just let you go?" Peter asked with a shaky voice. Neal laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "I managed to get away."

For once, Peter was able to smile at Neal's escape artistry. Sure, Neal was pretty banged up, and he couldn't remember every being so angry with the man, but at least he was alive.

"I've been running for a few months," Neal said. His eyes met Peter's. "I can't do it anymore."

"You need my help," Peter finished for him, finally understanding his words from earlier.

"The art is yours. You can send me back for good this time. I don't care," Neal's words were becoming slurred in his growing exhaustion. The sheer apathy was vivid on his face. "I'm just tired of running." His eyes wandered to the kitchen door, where he knew the couch lay just a few feet away. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"Well, I'll be up all night after that coffee," Peter lied. His eyes were already beginning to droop, but it was becoming painful to watch Neal's drained body. "Why don't you crash on the couch tonight, and we'll figure everything out in the morning?"

Neal looked surprised but grateful. "You don't think I'll try to run?"

"Neal, right now you look like you can barely stand," Peter said with a weak smile. "I'll keep an eye on you tonight, and then tomorrow we can talk about something more permanent."

Permanent? The word rang in Neal's ears. Peter couldn't possibly be suggesting that prison wasn't his only option. He had run. He had broken, or rather shattered, their agreement. The consequences of that had been made clear since day one. _If you run, and I catch you—which you know I will because I'm two and oh—you're not back here for four years, you're back here for good._

He wanted to press Peter on the issue. He wanted to know that maybe he had more than an eight by ten prison cell to look forward to for the rest of his life. But he was too tired to talk about it anymore. Instead, he mumbled a quick, "Okay," and dragged his body to the Burke's couch, where he immediately collapsed in exhaustion.

_**Sorry I didn't mention the pre-story character death. I figured it'd be a little too obvious in this one. Hope nobody's too angry with me! Let me know what you think!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you to everyone who is actually reading this. You're all pretty darn awesome!**_

When Peter returned to his bedroom a few minutes later, he was sure Elizabeth must be asleep. He may have told Neal that he would keep an eye on him for the night, but he was pretty sure the younger man wasn't going anywhere. At least on this, he could trust him. He opened the door just enough to slip in and carefully crept across the hardwood floors. He allowed himself to give out a tired sigh and then sank onto their bed. The light flicked on immediately.

"Where were you?" Elizabeth asked, her hand still lingering at the lamp. Peter smiled at her concern and leaned forward to kiss her.

"El, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said with a shake of his head. Elizabeth's face twisted into confusion. Peter continued. "Neal Caffrey is asleep on our couch."

Elizabeth didn't seem in the least bit surprise. Quite the opposite, actually. She nodded her head and smiled, as if she had been expecting Neal's visit for the past two years. "Is he okay?" she asked, not hiding her genuine concern for the man from her husband. Peter almost laughed. The instant he saw Neal at the door, he had wanted nothing more than to hit him square in the face, and here was Elizabeth, acting as if Neal was a victim in all this.

"He'll be fine," Peter confirmed, but, by the look on her face, that wasn't the answer Elizabeth wanted to hear.

"He'll be fine?" she echoed in slight annoyance. "Well, what's wrong with him now?"

Peter sighed and pulled Elizabeth closer to him. "El," he started, and, at once, a large knot formed in his throat, "Mozzie's dead." There were so many other things wrong with Neal at the moment, but, really, this was the only one that was important.

"What?" Elizabeth questioned. She pulled away from Peter and turned to face him with a weak smile, as if she thought this was some kind of joke.

"They got into some trouble…" Peter explained, and, of course, that said it all. Yes, Neal was brilliant and incredible at what he did, but he did have a certain knack for pissing people off.

"How's Neal?" Elizabeth asked, her thoughts immediately going to the man downstairs.

"How do you think he is?" Peter said, his eyes meeting Elizabeth's sadly. "It was almost a year ago, and he's still a wreck."

"A year ago?" Elizabeth questioned in curiosity, seemingly forgetting about the news of their friend's death. "Then where has he been for the last year?"

Peter sighed. This wasn't something he wanted to tell Elizabeth. "Maybe we should just talk about this in the morning…"

She protested at once. "Peter, what happened to him?" Their eyes met for an instant, and Peter immediately looked away.

"I don't know all of it," he warned, as if it would make the story less awful. But it didn't. He told Elizabeth everything that Neal had told him, and, the whole time, Elizabeth sat in attentive silence. The urge to rush down to Neal at once was evident on her face as Peter finished recounting the story.

"Are you going to send him back?" Elizabeth asked with worry the instant Peter finished. Peter sighed. This seemed to be the question of the night. He had seen it flash across Neal's mind, but they had both been too tired to talk about it.

"I don't know, El," he said, shaking his head. "How can I not? He ran. He knew what would happen if he ran and got caught, and he did it anyway."

"But, Peter," Elizabeth started, and Peter braced himself because he knew that, in the end, whatever she said would end up being right. "How _can_ you?"

* * *

><p>"Come on, Neal," Peter coaxed later that morning. "You have to wake up." Neal groaned and rolled over on the couch. The peaceful look on his face disappeared at once as he pulled the couch cushion closer to him and slowly opened his eyes.<p>

"Peter?" Neal questioned, blinking up at the older man. There was a moment of nervous panic before his body relaxed. He stared at the man for a second, looking at his suit and tie in confusion. "Where are you going?"

A smile crept onto Peter's face. "_We_," he corrected, "are going to the office." He said this and then swiftly turned to leave. It wasn't until Peter had disappeared into the kitchen that Neal even comprehended the words. He jumped from the couch immediately and went after the other man.

"Peter. No," he said, stumbling across the living room. He tripped over Satchmo, who was fast asleep in the middle of the floor, and then shoved his way through the kitchen door. "There is no way…" he started, standing breathless in the kitchen doorway, but he stopped short the moment he laid eyes on the woman sitting at the kitchen table. "Elizabeth."

She smiled and stood up to greet him. "Hi, Neal," she said as she pulled him into a hug and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Neal flashed her a smile. At least someone was happy to see him.

He looked around the room to find Peter standing several feet away at the refrigerator, out of ear shot. "How mad is he?" he asked cautiously. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Stupid question…"

"Get ready to go," Peter interrupted as he cleaned an apple off on his shirt and headed over to the other two.

"Peter, you can't possibly be serious," Neal protested. He folded his arms across his chest firmly. "If I go back there…"

"Relax," Peter cut him off with a low voice. "Nobody is arresting you today. I already talked to Hughes." Neal winced. He was surprised they hadn't sent the US Marshals over to the Burke's already. "You're going to help us catch these guys, get that art back to us, and…"

"And then what?" Neal asked quickly. Their eyes met. "Peter, I know what I said last night, but I really would prefer to stay out of prison."

"Neal, there's not a lot I can do," Peter sighed, but the look on Neal's face was enough to change his mind. "Look, you help us get these guys, and _maybe _we can talk about putting your old deal back on the table."

Finally, Neal relaxed. "Thanks, Peter," he said quietly.

"Sure," Peter shrugged. "Now, go get ready. We're late."

"I'm wearing my entire wardrobe," Neal reminded him. They both looked down at Neal's unsuitable attire.

"I'm sure I have something that'll fit you," Peter announced with an all-too-amused grin. Elizabeth laughed as Neal crinkled his nose in distaste. "Hey, would you rather be going to prison?"

"Maybe."

_**Sorry it was a little short. I'll try to get something else up soon. Although, I should probably be spending some time on my other stories…Eh. Whatever. Reviews? Maybe? No? Okay…**_


	4. Chapter 4

_I just got a new computer, and I'm trying to figure everything out, so let me know if there are any formatting/loading errors. Sorry for the length. I will get more up very, very soon. _

Neal never thought that he would ever experience a worse feeling than being shamelessly dragged into the FBI offices by a gloating Peter the first time he had caught him nearly seven years earlier. Apparently, he had been wrong. This was worse. A lot worse. When he and Peter stepped off the elevator on the correct floor, he immediately regretted his decision to return. Sure, it was nice not having to worry about running for once, but coming back to the office was so much worse. Hughes already knew of his return, but, from the stunned looks he was receiving from everyone else as they walked through the doors, he was pretty sure that he was the only one. Fortunately, Jones and Diana were nowhere in sight. He wasn't sure he could face them quite yet. The rest of the crowd was just a sea of familiar faces. People who he had worked with every now and then but had never really known. Ignoring them now was not so easy, though. Most were completely stunned. Some seemed somewhat amused to see him. And then there were those few who just looked angry. He winced and directed his attention forward. Hughes was waiting for both him and Peter at the railing above them. He motioned for them to join him and then turned to go into the conference room.

"I guess I don't get a welcome back party," Neal said lightly. Peter didn't look amused. From his annoyed expression, Neal could guess that he was just as aware of the other's stares as the conman himself. "Does that mean no cake?" Neal tried again. This time he cracked a small smile. Peter rolled his eyes and led the way upstairs.

The conference room was even worse than the bull pen. Diana and Jones were sitting closest to the door. They smiled at him when he walked in, but Neal recognized the same disappointment on their faces that was still evident on Peter's. Hughes was standing beside them with his arms folded across his chest. There were several agents scattered around the table. Neal was sure they weren't from their division, so he offered them a quick nod before returning to his old team.

"Look sir," he began as he approached Hughes. "I just want to apologize…"

"Forget it, Caffrey," the older man interrupted at once. "I can't say any of us were all that surprised when you left." Neal stole a side glance at Peter. Peter had been surprised when he left. He had been shocked and completely disappointed in his partner's betrayal, but, of course, he hadn't told his boss that. FBI Agents aren't supposed to trust criminals. "But as long as you're back and willing to work with us, we'll do what we can to help you out."

Neal nodded sharply. At least someone was on his side here.

"Neal," Peter started, putting on his fake, Special Agent voice, "this is Agent Fletcher. He's head of our homicide department."

Neal's head shot to Peter at once. "Homicide?" he questioned blankly. Peter looked confused.

"Well, we want to find Mozzie's killers, right?" he asked quietly. Neal allowed himself to smile. This wasn't just the divisions last hope of finding their missing treasure. There was a genuine desire to find some justice in the killing of their friend. He knew this would cross lines. No one was supposed to work on a case when there was a personal connection, but this was different. They had to be the ones involved here because, honestly, if they weren't, he wasn't so sure anyone else would be.

"Yeah. Of course. It's nice to meet you," Neal rambled mindlessly. A few more introductions were made before they were interrupted by a girl who most definitely hadn't been working at the bureau when Neal had been there. He smiled at her, but she ignored him and immediately addressed Peter.

"Agent Burke, you have a call on line one," she said in a convincing secretary tone. Peter nodded and quickly excused himself, leaving Neal alone with Jones, Diana, Hughes, and a room full of strangers. He sighed and turned back to the unfamiliar group. He had been introduced to all but one. The younger man who sat at the end of the table puzzled Neal completely. He was young. Too young to be any kind of agent. He was dressed entirely to well to be employed by the FBI. Even his posture was against all things law enforcement. He was slouched slightly in his seat with one leg balanced on his knee. His hands were playing mindlessly with his black hair, as if he cared nothing about the conversation going on in the room. There was a level of hostility in the glances he kept shooting at Neal, and Neal couldn't exactly figure out why. He didn't know the man -or kid, rather. He hadn't spoken a single word to him. With a small shrug and a bit of annoyance, Neal addressed the stranger.

"I don't think we've met," he said cooly. "I'm…"

"Neal Caffrey," the kid finished for him. "I know."

"Yeah…" Neal said in surprise. "How did you…?" At this, the stranger stood and, with a drawn out sigh, crossed the room.

"I'm Logan West," he explained, reaching his hand out for a limp shake. "Peter's consultant."

_Hope you all enjoyed! Again, I'm sorry it was so short. That just felt like a good place to stop for now. Bother me endlessly until I get the next chapter up because I'm being entirely too lazy! :)_


	5. Chapter 5

There was only a small fraction of a second in which Neal actually faltered. He stood, for an instant, and stared at the stranger in front of him. His whole body stiffened, giving the kid a hostile look. Then, as quickly as it had come, his moment of hesitation was gone, and his confused, somewhat hurt, expression was replaced with his usual grin.

"Then I guess you're the one who's been solving all of Peter's cases while I've been gone," he said with an almost convincing playful tone. Logan didn't seem amused at all. He narrowed his eyes and carefully studied Neal.

"No, Mr. Caffrey," he replied in annoyance. "We work as a team." Neal cringed. His eyes darted to Jones and Diana, hoping for some kind of assistance, but they were both stifling laughs. He shot them a look.

"How exactly did you end up working for Peter?" he asked, decisively ignoring Logan's last comment.

"Actually," the kid began with a growing smile. "It was because of you." Neal furrowed his brow in confusion. "You remember that case you were working on before you left?"

Neal nodded. How could he forget. That case had been enough to stump even him. Well, almost. "Yeah. Counterfeiting. It was brilliant work…"

"Thank you," Logan smirked. "You do deserve some credit here, though. If it wasn't for your tip, Peter never would have caught me. Too bad you didn't stick around long enough to get the credit for your work." He shrugged.

It was taking every ounce of self control Neal had to keep himself from grabbing the guy's throat. His eyes bore into him with an uncharacteristic hostility. He had never been one to get jealous or even all that angry, but this kid just had a certain way about him. His temper was reaching its summit just as Peter reentered the room. All of Neal's anger turned to him at once.

"I see you two have met," Peter commented, and Neal could tell that, behind the tone of amusement, there was one of worry. Neither Logan nor Neal spoke, however. They glared at each other, both sizing up the other carefully. Neal had worked Logan's case. He knew just how talented and slippery the kid was, almost as talented and slippery as he was, and he could only imagine how useful his resources and senses had been to the bureau. It was clear that he had been replaced. Not that he was surprised, really. He had just been another one of Peter's criminal consultants. There was nothing special or different about their partnership. In fact, it hadn't been a partnership at all. He was a con artist. Peter was a federal agent. They hadn't been partners, and they certainly hadn't been friends.

"Neal, I know this is going to be hard for you," Peter said when neither of the men responded. His face looked truly apologetic. "But, we're going to need you to make an official statement about what happened."

Neal's anger was lost as panic set in. "Again?" he asked. It had been hard enough recounting it all for Peter the night before. He wasn't sure he could do it again. There would be questioning and prodding until the bureau was confident that they knew every possible detail about the case they were taking over.

Peter frowned. "Yeah, kid," he said, clapping a hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'm afraid so."

Neal gave him a weak smile, thankful that Peter had realized this wasn't the time for one of his 'cowboy up' speeches. Who was he kidding? He and Peter may have bickered on a daily basis when they were working together, but, the truth was, when it came down to it, they had always had each others' backs. Neal just hoped that, even after everything that had happened, Peter was still on his side.

"Logan," Peter said, turning to his consultant. The kid seemed surprised at being addressed so casually. He straightened up and gave Peter a sharp nod, "can you go ahead and file those case reports on my desk some time today?"

"Yes, Agent Burke," Logan answered plainly before leaving the conference room. Neal raised an eyebrow. _Agent Burke_? He couldn't remember ever referring to Peter so formally.

"Ready?" Peter asked, pulling Neal from his thoughts.

Neal sighed. He was never going to be ready for this. It was one thing telling Peter about the past two years, but the idea of telling Hughes and Jones and DIana and the unfamiliar agents in the room made him feel sick. They wouldn't see it the same way. They didn't understand him. Peter did. As angry as Peter had been with him, he had understood. He had always understood. He knew Neal was a criminal, and, although he desperately tried to change him, he didn't hold that against him. And for that, because he knew he owed Peter more than he could ever offer, he nodded.

* * *

><p>By the time Neal finished recounting everything, even Hughes had a look of pity on his face. Neal had never gotten such sympathetic treatment before, and, he had to admit, he wasn't exactly enjoying it. It had been a long time, but he still considered these people his coworkers, and now they were looking at him like he was one of their victims.<p>

"Caffrey," Hughes started apologetically. "You need to tell us where that art is." Everyone's eyes turned to Neal. A look of fear had come over him.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, preparing himself for the backlash he would receive for his refusal. "But I can't do that."

"Neal…" Peter warned in a low voice. He knew Neal's freedom was hanging by a thread. If he didn't cooperate, Hughes would have no problem throwing him in prison and forgetting the whole thing.

"We're not going to arrest you, Caffrey," Hughes said with growing impatience.

"That's not what I'm afraid of," Neal explained calmly. "If you know, they'll come after you. I can't let that happen."

"Neal, you don't have to protect us. This is the FBI. We can take care of ourselves," Peter reasoned, trying to keep Hughes's temper in line without causing the look of panic on Neal's face to spread.

"Look, there's nothing I can do with it now. I can't sell it without sending up any red flags. There's nowhere I can or want to run to. For now, it's safe. Can't you just leave it at that?" Neal begged. "Once we figure this out, I'll hand it over. I promise."

Hughes stared at him in shock, trying to comprehend how the criminal thought he was in any type of position to make a deal with them. Neal didn't waver. He stared back confidently, firmly sticking with his words. There was a deep sense of determination in his eyes and a sickening desperation in his voice that Hughes knew he couldn't ignore. "Fine," the older man agreed with a nod. "But if all of it is not returned in full…"

"It will be," Neal assured. Peter looked at him doubtfully but decided now was not the time to bring it up.

"Good," Hughes finally said with a reluctant nod. "Burke, keep an eye on Caffrey. Don't let him do anything stupid." His words weren't those of authority, though. There was concern in his warning. Concern for Neal's wellbeing, as well as Peter's.

"Of course," Peter agreed. Once he looked satisfied that Neal would stay safe and out of trouble, Hughes got up from the table. He stopped at Peter and clapped a hand on the man's shoulder.

"I don't want him out of your sight," he whispered in a low voice, loud enough so that only Peter could hear him. Peter gave a sharp nod, and Hughes left the conference room.

"Okay," Peter announced to the rest of the room. Everyone snapped up from their doodling and texting. "If we're going to catch these guys, first we're going to need to find them."

"Peter, last time I saw them, they were in Texas. That was months ago. They could be half way across the world by now." Neal said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"We're gonna start right here," Peter continued, his own optimism not effected by Neal's doubt. "And you're going to bring them to us."

"I don't understand," Neal started. All eyes were on him now, focused in deep curiosity.

"Neal, these guys chased you for months, they killrf Mozzie, and they held you for moths against your will. You really think they aren't still after you?" Peter asked. Neal bowed his head. He knew they were still chasing him. In fact, he had had some pretty close calls with them since his escape. He just didn't want to admit it. He wanted to think that being in New York with Peter meant that he was safe, free from all of it, but that was far from the truth. "We're going to let the word out that you're back in New York, and you're trying to sell some of the art."

"And then what?" Neal questioned, understanding hitting him. "They kill me?"

"They're not going to kill you," Peter sighed. "Not if you don't tell them where you're keeping it. We just need to let them catch you. Then you can get all the information on them we need to take them down." Neal wanted nothing more than to argue against it. He would have even run if it wasn't for Peter's reassuring expression. "We're not going to let anything happen to you." The older man insisted. Neal nodded.

"Okay," he agreed with a less than steady voice.

"Jones and Diana, spread the word that Neal is back in Manhattan." Both nodded at their boss's orders. "Fletcher, I need you to set up a team. We need surveillance and back up. I want only your best on this."

"Of course, Peter," Agent Fletcher agreed. He and his team readied to leave. "Happy to help."

"Thanks, Brian," Peter said, meeting the man's eyes before he and the accompanying agents left. At last, Jones, Diana, Peter, and Neal were alone. They all fell silent. It had been two years since they had been a team. How were they supposed to go back to the way things had been? Their ability to work so well together had been based entirely on a blind trust that they had for each other. It was becoming clear that that had been shattered entirely with Neal's escape. They were all thinking they same thing: could they come back from that? And, even if they could, could they just forget everything and go back to normal? Peter had a new consultant. Jones and Diana had wandered away from their original team, going off to work with other divisions on more and more cases. And who even knew if Neal wanted to come back. He had no anklet. He wasn't behind bars. If he wanted to, he could run at any time.

"Agent Burke?" A tentative voice interrupted each of their thoughts. All eyes turned to the doorway where Logan stood with a file in his hand.

"Yeah, Logan," Peter said, relieved for the distraction. "What's up?"

The kid looked so nervous around Peter, Neal didn't get it. Peter had caught him, twice. He was the one responsible for putting him in jail, and he had never shown any kind of hostility towards Neal during their time working together. Neal had always felt more than comfortable around the office. West looked terrified.

"I finished up with those case reports, and I checked out this one out for you," he held up the file. "It looks like a simple slash and grab. I added a suspect list in the notes. Is it okay if I get going?" He shifted uncomfortably as Peter took the file from his hands and skimmed through it.

"Sure," he said nodding his head at the papers. "Good work." Logan looked at him in surprise. He turned his back on them without a goodbye and made it to the door before Peter stopped him. "Actually," he said. Logan ducked his head and spun around slowly. "Why don't you come over tonight?" The kid looked as if Peter had just proposed marriage. His eyes darted around the room as if this was some sort of joke. "Jones and Diana will be there. We have a lot we have to get done on this case, and we could really use your help." Neal shot him a look. Logan West specialized in counterfeiting, fraud, and racketeering. He wouldn't be of much help in this case. He knew nothing about murder or art theft. What was Peter playing at?

"Okay," Logan said slowly. He eyed Peter cautiously. Neal couldn't believe the difference in the kid from earlier that morning. He had been so confident, so annoyingly arrogant, and yet, the second Peter had joined them, he turned into a submissive dog. He was nervous and spoke only when spoken to. His eyes never directly met Peter's. Something wasn't right.

"Great!" Peter said with a grin. "Go get your stuff. I'll drive."

_Thanks for sticking with my terrible updating schedule! I really appreciate you guys and all of your feedback. _


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Neal, Peter, and Logan pulled up in front of the Burke's house, Neal was already eagerly anticipating the end of the night. The entire ride from the bureau had been filled with Peter's recounting of each of he and Logan's cases. West had remained silent the whole time, acting as if he wasn't even present in the backseat of Peter's car. Neal wasn't exactly his lively self either. He knew what Peter was doing, and he was beyond annoyed because of it. There were about a million things they needed to discuss, in private, but Peter had decided that showing off his new consultant was more important.

It was almost painful, but Neal managed to put on his most sincere smile and step onto the Burke's front walk. Peter was quickly at his heels, followed by an uncomfortable looking Logan. They stood on the sidewalk in silence, waiting patiently as Diana and Jones pulled up behind Peter's car and joined them.

"How'd it go today?" Peter asked them cheerfully. Neal folded his arms tightly across his chest.

"Good," Jones said with a nod. "We got the word out that Neal is back in New York."

"Perfect," Peter responded, and he headed towards his house, followed by the rest of the group.

Elizabeth was waiting for them in the kitchen with an unnecessary amount of coffee and desserts. She hugged Jones and Diana. It had been nearly a year since she had seen the pari in her house. Neal's leaving really had torn Peter's team apart. She gave Neal's arm a tight squeeze, knowing simply by the look on his face that the day had been worse than he had anticipated. Then, she turned to Logan. She smiled at him politely and extended a hand to him.

"I'm Peter's wife, Elizabeth," she greeted and looked at him expectantly. Logan shook her hand shyly and immediately took a step back.

"Logan West," he introduced himself quietly. "Peter's consultant."

To say that Elizabeth looked surprised by this information would be an understatement. She was beyond shock. Her eyes didn't widen. Her jaw didn't drop. She just stood there in complete silence, not even flinching.

Peter hadn't told her about him. She had no idea, and Neal couldn't help but give a genuine smile at that revelation. West had been Peter's consultant for almost a year, and he hadn't so much as mentioned it to his wife. If that wasn't proof that Logan wasn't a Neal Caffrey replacement, then Neal wasn't sure what was.

"Logan," Neal said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. He stepped over to the kid and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Can I get you anything?"

* * *

><p>Two hours later, everyone was about ready to call it quits. Neal had given a rough description of the men who had killed Mozzie, but with no names or records, there wasn't much to go by. They decided that there best, and probably only, option was to wait. Until they came looking for Neal, there was nothing they could do. So, after several cups of coffee and frustrating dead ends, Jones and Diana left with promises to get Logan home safely. Neal had almost forgotten the kid was there. He had gotten over his jealousy and had moved on to plain annoyance with him. He spoke only when Peter addressed him formerly and was so stiff and nervous that it made everyone else unbearably uncomfortable.<p>

Neal turned to Peter immediately after the others left, a wide smile plastered to his face. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked with a shrug.

"You know what," Neal said, amusement evident in his voice. Peter rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to bed," Peter announced, taking the empty mugs from the dining room table and heading into the kitchen.

"Come on, Peter," Neal laughed. Peter returned and leaned against the dining room wall.

"What?" he repeated with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"You didn't tell Elizabeth about him," Neal said with a grin. Peter rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to bed," Peter repeated insistently. He turned his back on Neal and started walking to the stairs.

"Why didn't you tell her?" Neal asked hopefully. His smile widened as Peter stopped in his tracks. The older man shook his head and then whirled around to face Neal. He didn't have a playful look on his face as Neal had expected, however. He looked frighteningly angry. Without the least bit of hesitation, he strode back across the living room to where Neal was sitting.

"You want to know why I didn't tell her?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically cold. Neal allowed himself to nod slowly. "I didn't want to put her through all of that again."

"Put her through what…?" Neal asked, his smile fading.

Peter shook his head at the younger man's naivety. "You really think I was the only one you hurt when you left?" he asked, and embarrassment suddenly hit him. Why was he under the impression that Neal deserved the truth? "It killed Elizabeth."

Neal stared back at him in shock. It wasn't very often that he found himself at a loss for words, but, at the moment, he honestly had no idea what to say.

"I didn't tell her about West because I saw what she went through after you left." Peter's voice shook with anger. Neal took a step back in cautious fear. Had he really been so selfish in leaving? Of course, he had known how angry Peter would be with him, but hurt? That couldn't be right. He was a criminal. How could Peter, or even Elizabeth for that matter, care enough about him to be genuinely hurt when he left?

"Peter, I'm sorry. I didn't know…" he started with a trembling voice. Peter cut him off.

"You didn't know we would care so much?" he questioned shaking his head and arching an eyebrow. "Yes you did. You knew that running wouldn't just be about breaking our deal. It was a hell of a lot more than that, and you did it anyway." Peter took a moment to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice was low and steady. "You ran because you didn't think, for the tiniest second, about anybody but yourself. And you can say that you're sorry all you want, but don't try to convince me that you didn't know exactly what you were doing."

Neal stared back at him, frightened to say anything else. Peter was right. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he had run because he wanted to. Mozzie had pushed him, sure, but, in the end, it had been his decision, and his decision alone, to leave.

"You're right, Peter," he finally said apologetically. His eyes fell to the floor. Gaining Peter's trust back wasn't going to be easy. He wasn't even sure if it was going to be possible.

"I know I am," Peter said, amusement lining his voice. He exhaled loudly, and Neal could almost feel the hostility leave the room. "You know," he started calmly. Neal looked up. "Last night was the first time I've ever heard you apologize for something." Neal nodded slowly. The truth was, he had never apologized for anything before, simply for the fact that he had never regretted anything before. But now, well, he certainly regretted this. "I just want you to know that it does mean something to me that you're trying." Neal nodded again. "You did come back. That's worth a lot."

"Thanks, Peter," Neal said quietly. Peter shrugged casually.

"Just don't let me down again," he said, a distinct tone of warning evident in his voice.

"I won't," Neal promised.

"Alright," the older man nodded, satisfied for the time being. "I'm going to head up," he said, stretching out and heading to the stairs. "You should try to get some sleep too."

"Yeah," Neal said absentmindedly, but he stopped Peter before he reached the first step. "Hey, Peter!" he called. His partner turned to face him. "There's something I need to do tonight," he explained, knowing how much he was asking of the man. "Is it okay if I go out for a bit?" He winced in preparation for Peter's response.

"If I say no, are you just going to do it anyway?" Peter asked with a knowing sigh.

"Probably," Neal admitted with a shrug. "But I'll feel a lot less guilty if you say yes."

Peter thought about it for a moment. "You aren't going to run?" Neal shook his head emphatically. "You won't get into any trouble?" Again, he shook his head. "And you'll be back before morning?"

"Yes," Neal insisted. He knew that if Peter had wanted to, he could have barraged him with questions, but he left it at that, for some reason trusting that Neal would end up doing the right thing.

"Fine," Peter agreed with a nod.

How much trouble could he get himself into in just a few hours after all?

* * *

><p>Neal was severely regretting his decision by the time he stepped foot onto the familiar front step. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and head back to the Burke's, even after his insistent pleading with his partner. He knew that however unpleasant his reunion with Peter had been, this was going to be worse. Much worse.<p>

The soft noises from inside pulled him out of his thoughts and into a state of almost eager readiness. He could hear the sound of muffled voices coming from the TV and the clanking of silverware on dinner plates. Maybe he had come at a bad time. Oh well. It was too late now. With a sigh, he raised his hand to the door and knocked twice.

Immediately, the muffled voices became softer, and the sound of silverware stopped, replaced by light footsteps heading in his direction. Just a few seconds past before the door swung open.

Sara didn't speak a word. She stared at him, standing in her sweat pants and oversized t-shirt with her arms folded defensively across her chest.

Neal didn't dare speak either. He smiled back at her, even though her face showed no sign of returning the favor. Minutes past in a painful silence before suddenly, and without warning, the door slammed loudly in his face.


	7. Chapter 7

_**My updating schedule is really out of whack. Thank you for being patient and bearing with me. I really appreciate it. **_

She was walking away. He could hear her footsteps retreating quickly, knowing that if he didn't act fast, he was going to lose her, for good. Although, there was a good chance that he already had lost her. It had been two years. Surely, she hadn't been waiting around for his return. Neal sighed and then decisively yelled through the door.

"I stole the Raphael." His voice was confident, but his body was far from it. He winced, bracing himself for the oncoming attack.

The footsteps stopped for a moment before they, once again, headed back in his direction. The door was pulled open for a second time, and, this time, Sara stood in the frame expectantly. Neal gave her a weak smile.

"Say that again," Sara commanded, narrowing her eyes in surprise and confusion.

"I stole the Raphael," Neal repeated in admittance. Peter was probably going to have to send him back to prison anyway, the least he could do was come clean about this. Sara looked doubtful. Neal closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead before reaching his hand out of sight and returning with a canvas. Sara stepped forward in immediate interest, apparently forgetting her anger.

"This is it?" she asked hopefully. Neal flipped the canvas around, revealing the painting in question.

"This is it," he confirmed. Sara opened her mouth, doubt evident in her face, but Neal cut her off. "It isn't a forgery. I swear, it's the real thing."

Sara held the painting in her hands for several minutes, studying it in silence. Neal waited patiently until she finally looked up at him.

"I'll probably regret this later," she said with a defeated sigh, "but would you like to come in?"

Neal beamed and took a step into the house behind her. She led the way down the hall and into the kitchen. Without so much as a drink request, she pulled two glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet and placed them on the table. She poured each of them a generous amount and sat down. This visit would definitely require alcohol.

"You look different," Sara commented after finally getting a good look at him in the light of her kitchen. Neal smiled again. He ran a hand through his newly long hair and straightened out his unusually casual attire. Sara shook her head. "I don't mean that," she said, shaking her head. "Your smile," she explained. "There's some remorse in it." She gave a small shrug as Neal's grin faded. "Not it's usual shameless self." She studied him some more when he didn't say anything else. Then she straightened herself and shot him an accusing look. "Does Peter know you're back?" she asked.

"Yes," Neal answered with a laugh. Sara seemed surprised by his answer.

"And you aren't in prison yet?" she questioned. "How'd you con your way out of that?"

Neal decided to ignore the accusation. "He's helping me out with something. A case," he explained. "Once that's over, he's probably sending me back."

"If you don't run," she corrected, her tone quickly taking a hostile ton. Neal just nodded his head. He deserved this.

"I won't run," Neal confirmed calmly.

Sara hardly looked like she believed him, but she moved on quickly, remembering the other dozen questions she still had for him. "Why are you here?" she asked, and it was evident that she hated him for the fact that he had returned. Not because she wasn't happy to see him. No. There was definite excitement behind the anger in her eyes. She knew that now that he had returned, she would finally have to deal with what had happened. She could no longer pretend that Neal Caffrey didn't exist. That he was just some figment of her imagination.

Neal sighed, knowing that he was going to have to tell her everything. After everything he had put her through, she deserved the truth. He just didn't want to tell her the same story he had told Peter. With Peter, he had been looking for the sympathy that he had undoubtably gained from the older man. He didn't want the same sympathy from Sara. If she was ever going to forgive him, it was going to be because she wanted to, not because he tricked her into it.

"I got into some trouble," he explained carefully. Sara shook her head knowingly. Of course he had. "And I need Peter's help."

"What kind of trouble?" Sara asked, without missing a beat.

"These guys," he said, looking everywhere but directly in her eyes, "are after me."

Sara didn't look surprised, but there was a hint of concern behind her eyes.

"They killed Mozzie," Neal said so plainly it was as if he was recounting the weather. Sara looked to him at once, studying his face.

"What?" she questioned in an immediate reflex. Neal just nodded. "When? Are you okay?"

"It was about a year ago," he told her. "I'm fine." That was hardly true. "They caught me, though." Sara instinctively reached across the table to take his hand. Neal allowed her to. "Kept me for a few months before I escaped. I've been running from them for months, but…" he trailed off.

"You don't want to anymore," Sara finished for him. He looked up at her, regret evident on his face. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her to hate him for what he had done, but, right now, the only look on her face was one of complete sympathy and concern.

Neal nodded and then continued his story, filling in all of the gaps carefully and with as much detail as he had given in his statement earlier that day. He told her about his reunion with Peter and Elizabeth and then about returning to work and finally about Logan West. Sara didn't interrupt. She remained silent, holding his hand and nodding her reassurance. It made Neal feel all the more guilty.

When he finally did finish, Sara pulled her hand away from him and leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. Neal didn't speak another word.

"I always wanted you to come back," Sara said quietly. "Just so I could tell you how much I hated you for leaving." Neal winced. "And now I have the perfect opportunity to tell you exactly that…" she started, trying to build on her anger, but she fell flat. "And I can't." She groaned in frustration and folded her arms across her chest. "How do you do that?" she asked, desperation evident in her voice. Neal furrowed his brow in confusion. "You get away with everything," Sara clarified. "Youescaped with an entire Nazi treasure, and here I thought, finally, Neal Caffrey is going to get it for this," she shook her head. "And nothing. Peter's accepted you back without question." That was hardly the truth, but Neal didn't argue. "The bureau is more than happy to take on your case. And I…" her eyes fluttered to the floor in embarrassment. "And I can't even be mad at you." Neal looked up guiltily. "I've spent the last two years hating you, and now you're sitting in my kitchen, and all I can think about is how much I've missed you."

"Sara, I'm sorry," Neal started, but she cut him off at once.

"It's not your fault," she said, meeting his eyes. "I knew who you were all along, and I was stupid enough to try to convince myself that you could change. It's my fault I got hurt."

Neal stared back at her in shock. He would have rather she yelled at him. He would have rather she shoved him out of her house, slapped him across the face, and slammed the door. That would have been easier than this. Her words caused him physical pain. She had expected him to change for her, and he had never thought to do so. He had never once thought that if he did change he could have an actual life with her. The thought of retiring to some island getaway with Mozzie was much too tempting. But, now that he thought about it, the alternative seemed even more appealing. He could have finished working with Peter and gotten an actual job. They could have gotten married, had kids. It was such a simple concept, and yet that was the life that seemed like a fantasy to him. The thought of having a normal life had never struck him as an honest possibility, but now he began to realize that it had been in his reach. Of course, that was before he had ruined it. All of it.

"I should have tried to change," Neal started. "Or at least wanted to. You may not blame me, but this is my fault. I'm sorry I put you through that, and I'm sorry I'm here putting you through this now."

Sara stared at the stranger in front of her. This was hardly the Neal Caffrey she had known. "You've changed," she said, studying him through narrowed eyes. Neal looked at her in surprise. "I've never heard you apologize before."

Neal smiled weakly. Why was everyone saying that? Did the world have to constantly point out the fact that, yes, Neal Caffrey finally made a mistake he was willing to admit? Apparently. "Yeah," he said with a shrug. "It's this new thing I'm trying out." He gave her a small smile, which she returned instantaneously, and then cautiously leaned forward. He knew just how unfair he was being for even trying such a thing, but the lighting made her look just perfect, and every second that went by with her only made him realize just how much he had missed her.

Sara hesitated at first, fearing what she know what would come if she did this, but then he reached out and took her face in his hand, and there was something about his eyes and that crooked smile of his that made her forget to be smart for once. She leaned in and closed her eyes, this time not pulling away when he tried to kiss her. It was probably a mistake, and she would probably regret it later, but, at the moment, it was insanely perfect.

She got to her feet, pulling him up with her, and dragged him by his worn collar to her bedroom, slamming the door behind them. Neal laughed. At least it wasn't slamming in his face this time.

* * *

><p>Neal couldn't remember the last time he had been so comfortable when he woke up the following morning, sprawled out on Sara's bed. She was still asleep. Her arm was draped across his bare chest, and her face was resting just inches from his. She would probably regret everything once she woke up, claiming that it had been the alcohol, not her better judgement, that had agreed to this. But, for now, he could pretend that they were just a normal couple again, or at least as normal as they had been. There weren't about a dozen things they needed to discuss or a mountain of trust issues they would have to get over if they ever wanted to work this out, not to mention the still very real possibility of Neal's imprisonment. None of that seemed to matter last night. Maybe it wouldn't matter today.<p>

Neal stretched his arms above his head and let out a loud yawn, stirring Sara from her sleep. She took her arm away from his chest and blinked up at him. She seemed confused for a moment, as if she didn't quite believe it was him, and then realization hit as the events from last night reformed in her head. Neal half expected her to throw him out, but she didn't. She smiled up at him and twirled a piece of his long hair in her finger.

"You need a haircut," she commented, her voice still raspy from sleep.

"Mmm," Neal agreed. He was hardly paying attention to her words.

"I have to go to work today," Sara told him carefully, trying to make clear her regret for such news. "But maybe tonight we can…" she started, but Neal had shot up at her words, looking around the room wildly.

"Work," he stated, awareness flooding over him. "Peter." How had he been so careless? He hadn't even meant to fall asleep. He had promised Peter that he would be back hours ago. The man probably thought he had run. Every federal agent in the city was probably out searching for him at the moment. Without anymore of an explanation, he threw the covers to the side, jumped out of bed and rushed to the kitchen in nothing more than a pair of boxers and a single sock. Sara followed him, draping her comforter over her shoulders and dragging it behind her. Neal seemed to have completely forgotten about her, however. He took no notice of her as she joined him in the kitchen and quickly picked up her phone and dialed. It rang only twice.

"Sara?" Peter's confused voice answered. Neal breathed a small sigh of relief. It didn't sound like he was in full panic mode just yet.

"Peter. It's me," Neal clarified quickly. He let himself smile when he heard Peter's laugh on the other line.

"So, I guess Sara forgave you," Peter said in amusement.

"Guess so," Neal shrugged. He turned to Sara who was staring at him with her head cocked to one side questioningly. Even with her makeup smudge from the night before and her hair messy from sleep, she looked exceptionally beautiful. He gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Peter," he continued on the phone. "I guess I fell asleep." He was pretty sure he had had this same conversation with his mother numerous times as a teenager. It seemed odd having it now with his partner. "I'm heading back right now."

"I wasn't worried," Peter said quickly. "I was gonna give you another hour before calling in the cavalry."

Neal laughed. "Sure," he said with a shrug. "I'll see you soon."

He hung up and turned to Sara with a small pout. "You really have to go to work?" he asked, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her waist. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes," she said insistently. "And it sounds like you have to too."

Neal gave an overdramatic sigh. "Fine," he agreed. "But I'll see you tonight?"

Sara swallowed, a mixture of fear and excitement running around her head. Just like that, they had become a couple again. She had been telling herself for two years that she would never let herself fall into Neal Caffrey's trap again, and here she was planning dinner with him. "Sure," she said with a smile. Had she learned nothing? He was going to leave again. Just like he had before. Just like he always did. "Dinner?" Why couldn't she resist him?

"I'll pick you up at eight," he promised and flashed his beautiful grin. Sara shook her head. How could anyone resist that?

_**Hope you don't mind all the Neal/Sara in this chapter! I don't know. I think they're cute. Needed this chapter to be on the lighter side. Let me know what you think. Feel free to bash or hate. I truly love criticism (provided it's constructive). How else do we learn, right? **_


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